


More

by edibleflowers



Series: Putting It Together [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took nearly a week for Clint to put the moves on Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Obviously it took me much longer than a week to write this, and I apologize for my writing mojo's apparent disappearance. Yes, more is planned in this series; no, I don't know when it'll be posted.
> 
> Edited September 2013: why didn't anyone tell me I changed tense halfway through, holy fuck.

It took nearly a week for Clint to put the moves on Tony Stark. Not out of any sort of intimidation or lack of interest, though -- oh, Clint was plenty interested, especially after Natasha had described the evening in the limo -- no, he simply couldn't find the goddamn time. Reports to file with SHIELD, a training class he'd promised Coulson he'd do, a minor crisis involving some weirdo group of bad guys coming after Tony in a vain attempt to steal his research: Clint was starting to believe a conspiracy had sprung up to keep him from even talking to Tony, let alone doing anything with him.

He was relieved, then, to head into the locker room of the gym at Stark Tower one morning to find Tony already there. Tony must have just completed his workout; he was peeling off a sweaty t-shirt when Clint pushed the door open, and he glanced up, nodding at him.

With a smile, Clint sat down on the bench that ran down the length of the room -- not too close to Tony, but not too far away, either -- and dropped his gym bag on the floor. "Morning, Stark."

Tony grunted and started undoing the laces of his shoes. "Be out of your way in a second," he said.

Clint couldn't help a wry chuckle. "There's enough room for five baseball teams in here," he commented. "You couldn't be in my way unless you tried." Reaching down to unzip his bag, he glanced back at Tony. "Not that I'd mind too much if you did."

Bingo: Tony went still for a moment, then laughed, though it sounded almost forced. "What, you too?" he said. 

"'Me too' what?" Clint asked, affecting innocence as he took some towels out, setting them next to himself on the bench.

"Don't give me that." Tony's smile was wry now; he shook his head briefly as he tugged off one sneaker, then the other. "Natasha told you all about what happened, I'm sure."

 _All right._ Clint leaned back, turning to face Tony, one leg swinging over the bench so he straddled it. "Yeah," he said, "she did. And let me tell you, it was a glowing review. Sounded pretty much like something I had to try."

Tony's raw chuckle had little humor in it. Clint leaned forward. He could only see part of Tony's face from this angle, barely enough to catch the sardonic glint in one dark eye. "So now I'm gonna be the team bicycle? Everyone gets a ride?"

"Oh, hey, no, nothing like that," Clint said. "Shit, Tony, I just thought you were hot, figured I'd let you know. You're not interested, that's cool. No skin off my nose." He stood up, reaching to open one of the lockers, and started tossing his things into it.

"Interested isn't the question," he heard Tony say. Turning, he caught a breath; Tony had stood up and closed the distance between them, close enough now that Clint could smell the salty-clean sweat, the deeper undertones of musk and metal and grease that seemed an integrated part of Tony's physiognomy now. Despite his better efforts, Clint's gaze dipped a little, taking in the strong muscular shapes of Tony's bare chest and abdomen, the glowing circle a shining gem set in his chest. "Eyes up here, Barton," Tony said dryly.

"Can't blame a guy for enjoying the view," Clint said, grinning shamelessly as he met Tony's eyes. Tony laughed, too, and then he was pushing Clint back against the lockers, only a moment's hesitation before he nudged in to kiss him. With a low moan of excitement, Clint slid his hands over Tony's hips and around to his lower back, spreading his fingers to cover as much bare skin as he could reach. Tony's kiss was anything but shy; Clint had expected no less, but it was still a delight when Tony's tongue parted his lips and teased in, his goatee a soft brush tickling Clint's chin.

The kiss didn't last; Tony's mouth slipped along Clint's jaw, traveling the line of his neck, even as one strong thigh nudged Clint's knees apart (which had the delightful side effect of bringing Clint's thigh into immediate and delicious contact with Tony's erection, stiff and hot in his track pants). "So," Clint panted, his head tipping back to rest against the metal locker door, "what is the question?"

Tony made an inquisitive noise but didn't look up from what he was doing, though he paused to tug up on the hem of Clint's t-shirt. Clint raised his arms and tugged the shirt off. "You said it wasn't a question of not being interested," he repeated.

"Oh," Tony muttered against Clint's collarbone. His hands were hard at work, undoing the ties of Clint's sweats, though Clint wasn't sure how they'd come off while both of them were rocking and grinding against each other -- not that logistics were high on his list of topics for discussion at the moment. "Just, you know. Crazy situation, all of us fucking, I keep running the numbers in my head and I'm not sure how it'll work."

"What'll work is if you put your hand in my pants," Clint said with a gasp, and Tony's laugh shivered against his neck as he did just that.

* * *

The most logical place to fuck seemed to be the showers, so Clint dragged Tony in there as soon as they'd finished yanking each others' clothes off. While he hadn't exactly been planning on this happening today, he had been hoping for the eventuality of it down the road, so he'd tucked a bottle of lube in his gym bag; now he put it on one of the built-in shelves in the shower wall while Tony turned the water on.

He had no problem letting Tony run this show; it gave him a thrill, even, when Tony kissed him hard and then turned him, crowding him up to the wall. Clint put his hands up to brace himself, panting at the heated sensation of Tony's mouth on his nape, at a nip that shot hunger straight to his cock. 

"Gonna guess you've done this before, Barton," Tony muttered, sounding infuriatingly casual while his hand stroked down over Clint's back, caressing a buttock, skating around to drift light fingertips over Clint's stiff cock. 

Clint let go of a curse under his breath, then nodded. "Didn't know you were such a tease in the sack," he gasped.

"Wait 'til we're actually in the sack." Tony laughed against Clint's nape, and Clint reached up for the lube, pushing it backwards until he felt Tony's hand close around it. "Impatient, are we?" Tony asked, voice going silky.

"Give me that lube back and I'll show you just how impatient I am."

Tony laughed, gives it to him another way instead: two firm fingers, nicely slicked up, pressing into him without hesitation. Clint gasped, but when Tony paused, he pushed backward. "Don't stop," he begged, so Tony didn't, working those knowing fingers into his body in clever steady movements. Clint pushed a fist against the wet tile and moaned.

"Tell me when, Barton," Tony said hotly in Clint's ear. His fingers twisted and pressed, and white-hot pleasure burst like stars behind Clint's eyes.

"Now," he gasped. "Fuck me _now_ \--"

And, thank God and all the saints, Tony did. There was a moment of emptiness when Tony slipped his fingers free, and then Clint lost words for an instant, _hard blunt full_ the only ones he could grasp as Tony pushed into him. He'd slicked himself up too, so there was a brief second of coolness, then nothing but heat taking him, spinning his senses until he saw stars. He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the cool tile.

"Doin' all right?" Tony's voice was sharp; Clint heard the panting gasp, realized Tony'd stilled in him. Dear God, it was nearly too much; they weren't moving at all and Clint thought he could come like this.

"Yeah," he muttered, "I'm fuckin' great, you're not gonna stay like that, are you?"

Tony laughed, but he got the message. His hands found places to rest, one on Clint's hip, the other on his shoulder, and Clint's fists went white-knuckled on the tile as Tony started fucking him in earnest. No joking, no quips: Tony pushed in single-mindedly, for which Clint was eternally grateful. He started grinding his hips back, little gestures to make the joining hotter: Tony gritted out a groan, his pelvis slapping when it met Clint's ass, and Clint moaned in nearly the same key.

He hadn't thought about it, but Tony really was a pretty considerate lover, which made sense given that the guy'd probably had more sex than most men did in a lifetime. Tony didn't just fuck straight into an orgasm; he took his time, pushing in slow strokes, speeding up, angling to hit Clint's prostate. One hand roamed over Clint's chest, fingers almost-but-not-quite-idly stroking a nipple and then tweaking it more firmly; the other lowered to his cock, then below, curving around his sac and making Clint shout in frustration and pleasure. Only when Clint gasped, "--fuck, fuck, I fuckin' _need_ to _come_ \--" did Tony finally seem to give in to the urgency, his mouth on Clint's shoulder and his hand on Clint's cock as he drove into a hungry rhythm. 

Clint's orgasm hit so hard that his brain went blank for long moments. He felt Tony shuddering into him, heard his gasped cry, but none of it really seemed to register. At last, though, Tony slumped against him, and Clint let him bear them both to the tile wall.

"Jesus," he muttered into the ceramic.

Tony snickered weakly. "Name's Stark," he said. Clint reached around behind himself and smacked Tony's hip.

"Fucking egotistical bastard."

"Name-calling is so fourth-grade, don't you think?"

Given that Tony slurred the words against his shoulderblade, all Clint could do was smile. He propped himself up a little better against the wall and let go of a contented sigh. "Thank God we're not in fourth grade," he commented, earning a laugh at that.

He could already feel Tony softening, slipping from him. In a moment this would be over, and that was all right. For a moment longer, Clint could enjoy Tony's solid weight on him.


End file.
